Say Goodbye

“She hated you,” Kimberly said quietly.

“Eventually, yes. And I would say, not without cause.”

“Did you hate her?”

“Never.”

“What about Mandy and me? Two more females interfering with your precious work?”

“You and Amanda are two of the best things that ever happened to me.” She saw him squeeze Rainie’s hand. It didn’t improve her mood.

“Oh sure, you say that now. But at the time, when you were working one hundred cases a year of murdered kids and mutilated women, each of them needing your complete focus, and there we were, demanding that you come home for di

“They were never petty.”

“But they were. They can be. How do you manage it all? How do you find enough time and energy? Enough love? How can you be all things to all people?”

Her father was silent for a moment. “Did you know your mother had a job before you girls were born?” he asked abruptly.

“She did?”

“Yes. She worked at an art gallery. Your mother had a master’s in fine art. She hoped to be a curator of a museum someday. That was her dream.”

“Then she got pregnant.”

“Things were different back then, Kimberly. Your mother and I had always assumed she would stay home with our children. It never occurred to us to do anything different. Though maybe, in hindsight, we should have.”

“Why do you say that?”

Her father shrugged, obviously choosing his next words with care. “Your mother was a bright, creative woman. While she loved you and your sister, life as a stay-at-home mom…It was hard for her. Not as fulfilling as she had hoped. And then, with me gone all the time…I think it was easier sometimes to blame me for her dissatisfaction. I loved my job. And she…didn’t.”

“Would you have let her go back to work?”

“I don’t know. She never asked. And I was never home long enough to realize how unhappy she was. Until, of course, it was too late.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Kimberly whispered, her hand curling over her belly. “I thought I did, but here I am, five months pregnant, and suddenly, I don’t understand anything anymore. How to be a wife, an agent, let alone a mom. I haven’t even had the baby yet, and I’m already terrible at this!”

“I wish there was something I could tell you, Kimberly. But life isn’t a one-size-fits-all model. These are the questions you should be asking. These are the concerns you and Mac will get to address. All I can say is that as a parent, I think I made every mistake a father could make, and I still wound up with a positively wonderful daughter.”

Kimberly shook her head. She knew he meant the words kindly. She wanted to accept them gracefully. But all she could wonder is if Mandy would say the same, and thoughts of her sister, dead by the age of twenty-three, simply broke her heart all over again.

Kimberly waited until bedtime to bring up the phone call. Five months ago, she would’ve mentioned a death threat to Mac. They both would’ve scoffed at it, having received their fair share. Now she didn’t think she could talk about it with Mac, so she told her father instead.

He approached it with his usual practicality. “What do you know about the caller?”

“Nothing.”

“Nonsense. Try harder. You’ve spoken to the person three times. Plenty of opportunities to learn.”

She remembered now: Her father was a hard-ass. “Umm, the caller has access to a computer and a credit card and is knowledgeable enough about the Internet to use call spoofing.”

“Okay.”

“Caller knows the FBI’s general information number; not that hard because it’s also in the phone book. But,” she considered now, “caller also knows my cell phone number, which is harder to get.”

“What else?”

“Caller sounds like a male, but that could be the result of voice distortion. I have the impression, however, that the caller is younger. Some of the expressions used, the general moodiness and anger. I’d guess adolescent.”

“Excellent.”

“There’s a slight regional accent, so I’d say he’s a local. Calls have happened during the evening, small hours of the morning, and now daytime. So someone with a flexible job or schedule, or perhaps no job at all.”

“Goes along with your theory of an adolescent.”

“Yes.”

“Motive? Why is the caller reaching out? Why you?”

She had to think about it. “At first, when the caller shared the Veronica Jones tape, I thought it was to help. A person, possibly a victim him-or herself, was trying to bring attention to what had happened so that Dinchara would be punished. The second call also sounded like a warning. Someone still trying to help. Also, we know someone close to Dinchara is delivering envelopes bearing the missing girls’ driver’s licenses, potential ‘trophies.’ It’s possible the caller is the one who made the deliveries, a first attempt at outreach that, unfortunately, didn’t get the job done.”

“And today’s call?”

“Angry,” she said without hesitation. “The caller was pissed off. Like I’d personally failed him. Maybe because he’s made the effort but I haven’t magically come through with an arrest? I’m not sure. But tonight the tone had changed. I’m no longer his ally. I’ve become his target.”

Quincy’s face held a ghost of a smile. “That does sound like an adolescent.”

“Exactly!”

He paused thoughtfully. “Is it possible that your caller is still in contact with your UNSUB? Perhaps the UNSUB himself changed the dynamics of the relationship. You said the caller wants to ‘graduate.’ And to do that, he/she claims he has to kill you.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps because it is the UNSUB’s bidding? Which brings us to the next logical question: Why you? Is it because the caller was told specifically to kill Special Agent Kimberly Quincy? Or that he/she was told to kill a law enforcement officer? Or a woman?”

“Me specifically,” Kimberly replied slowly. “From the very begi

“Likely suspects?” her father quizzed.

“Gi

“But?”

Kimberly shrugged. “But why mess around with call spoofing? We’ve already met face-to-face. There’s nothing in the phone calls she couldn’t have told me in person.”

“Shy?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Scared?”

“I think it’s a bigger risk to be following up by phone, versus telling me everything when we’re in person. Then again, girl like her…Who the hell knows?”

“Do you think the caller was serious?” Quincy asked her quietly. “Do you feel your life is in jeopardy?”

She chewed her lower lip, unsure of how to answer. “It’s spooky to be threatened.”

“But do you feel your life is in jeopardy?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a big difference between preying on prostitutes and gu

“You’ve filed a report with your supervisor?”

“Left him a memo with a copy of the tape tonight.”

“What do you think he’ll recommend?”

“I’m hoping like hell he’ll finally agree to form a task force,” she declared drily. “One thing the caller did drop was that he or she knows something about Tommy Mark Evans. And there’s an unsolved homicide, where, heavens to Betsy, we have a body. Maybe that will finally get the wheels churning, because God knows poor Gi